


Not All Who Wander Are Lost

by xblessthefall



Series: Anchors [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: 3x12 Bonus Scene, 3x12 Coda, Anchors, Fluff, M/M, Short, sterek, under 2k words
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-01
Updated: 2013-09-01
Packaged: 2017-12-25 06:48:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,169
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/949975
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xblessthefall/pseuds/xblessthefall
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the dust has settled in Deucalion's wake, Derek wants little more than to put Beacon Hills in his rear view mirror. Unfortunately, Stiles seems to be a master at throwing a wrench into his plans. </p><p>Sequel to A Mighty Flame Follows a Tiny Spark</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not All Who Wander Are Lost

“So what, you’re just… leaving now?”

Derek keeps his back to Stiles as he continues to pack his duffle bag with haphazardly folded clothes.

Stiles doesn’t take the hint. “I mean, how long are we talking here?” From the corner of his eye, Derek tracks the teen’s movements as Stiles begins to circle around the room towards him. It makes Derek’s shoulders tense. Since the events at Deaton’s clinic, being near Stiles has been different-- charged, almost. To Derek, it’s like the air’s crackling with some sort of electric tension the second he and Stiles drift too near, and it scares the shit out of him. “A few days? Weeks? _Months_? Dude, I’m all for a bit of old-fashioned sibling bonding, but you can’t just up and bail on us because Deucalion’s slunk off with his tail between his legs.”

Clearly, Stiles doesn’t share his most recent affliction.

Derek heaves a put-upon sigh. “I’m not sure how long we’ll be gone,” he finally says, still not meeting Stiles’ eye. Instead, he focuses on folding a pair of ratty jeans.

When a beat of silence follows his words, it’s enough to finally draw Derek’s gaze to the teen.

He‘s startled to find that Stiles looks about as lost as Derek feels. “But you’re coming back, right?”

The strain in Stiles’ voice is the final straw on the proverbial camel’s back, and Derek lets his shoulders visibly slump before turning to fully face the teen. Now that he’s actually _looking_ at him, Derek is startled to find just how vulnerable Stiles appears in that moment. Hell, the kid’s worked himself up enough that there are frustrated tears gathering in those whiskey colored eyes of his.

It’s Derek’s undoing all over again.

“I don’t know,” he says again, words pulled out of him as if with pliers. Derek takes a faltering step towards Stiles.

Stiles doesn’t hesitate to close the remaining distance between them. He’s standing toe-to-toe with Derek now, just like he _always_ is, and it takes every bit of willpower Derek possesses not to let himself drift even closer. It’s like gravity. No matter how often Stiles and Derek circle around each other, there’s always some greater force at work drawing them closer with every revolution.

“You can’t just leave.”

There’s no room for argument in Stiles’ words, but that’s the only thing Derek has to offer him.

“Stiles--”

“You can’t just leave us here to rot!” Stiles snaps, shoving at Derek’s chest now. “What, you’re just gonna bail with Cora now? Go find some apple pie life somewhere else? That’s fucking _bullshit_ , man. We _need you_ here!”

Derek shakes his head, taken aback by the teen‘s vehemence. “Scott can--”

Stiles laughs, but it’s a bitter thing. “Seriously? You’re going to leave Scott in charge?” His words are edging on hysterical now. Stiles falls a step away from Derek so he can drag his hands through that stupid new hair of his, leaving it in even more of a disarray than it’d begun.

A soon as Stiles puts some distance between them, Derek finds himself recovering it, shuffling closer to the teen. He’s got a hand curled under Stiles’ elbow before Derek’s even aware that he moved.

“Scott’s an alpha now, Stiles,” Derek says, trying to make his voice gentler somehow. He’s pretty sure he misses the mark. “He’s a _true_ alpha. He can handle--”

Stiles doesn’t let him finish. “ _You’re_ a true alpha!” he explodes, shoving closer into Derek’s space and curling his hands around Derek’s biceps like he’s actually going to shake him. Derek’s too stunned to stop him if Stiles actually tried to do just that. “So what if Scott’s stubborn enough to defy the laws of nature and make himself into some sort of super rare alpha badass? _So what_? In case you’ve forgotten, we just turned a stupid tree stump into some sort of hell mouth! Everything that goes bump in the night is going to come running right at us--and what, you’re gonna turn tail and book it? Pass the mantle on to Scott and get the hell out of dodge?”

Derek’s jaw tightens in outrage. “I’m not running! I’m--”

“You’re leaving us all to die!” Stiles yells back, right in Derek’s face.

In an instant, the color drains out of the teen as his brain finally catches up with his mouth. He gapes at Derek in some weird mixture of horror and challenge, and the combination is so typically _Stiles_ that it sends an unexpected flood of warmth through Derek’s chest.

He’s still got a hand curled around Stiles’ elbow, so he uses that hold to yank the teen into his arms so that Derek can throw his other arm over Stiles’ shoulders. He’s holding on too tight, there’s no doubt in Derek’s mind that he is, but he doesn’t doubt that it’s what Stiles needs in the moment, either. Stiles needs an _anchor_.

He’s already become Derek’s. Turnabout’s fair play.

There’s a sort of vindication in hearing the noise that Stiles makes before he suddenly curls his arms around Derek’s back and fists his hands in Derek’s henley. It’s not quite a sob, but it’s not a sigh, either.

“You’re not going to die, Stiles,” Derek promises gruffly, tightening the arm around Stiles’ shoulders and letting his other hand fall to the smaller man’s hip. “None of you are.”

Stiles drops his head against Derek’s shoulder. “Technically, three of us already have,” he points out helpfully, voice equally rough. The reminder is enough to make Derek’s chest rumble in a low growl. Stiles doesn’t even startle at the sound.

He actually lets a reluctant laugh slip.

“Yeah, I wasn’t too fond of the experience either.”

The hands that Stiles has fisted in Derek’s shirt loosen, but only in favor of smoothing over Derek’s back instead.

Derek’s not sure when this embracing thing stopped being about comforting Stiles. Suddenly, it feels like the tables have been flipped, and the kid’s actually trying to comfort _Derek_ now.

Seriously, their dynamic has gotten ridiculous.

“You’ll come back.”

Derek startles at the conviction behind Stiles’ words. He forces himself to draw back enough that he can look down at the teen in his arms, but Stiles’ head is still ducked against his shoulder, so Derek can’t read his expression.

“Stiles…”

Stiles tightens his hold around Derek enough to make the werewolf grimace.

“You’re coming back.”

It’s not a battle that Derek’s really interested in waging, so he can’t find a reason to put up much of a fight. He lets his arms drop away from Stiles in a sort of surrender. “Yeah,” he mumbles, allowing himself to speak the words against Stiles’ temple, to breathe in the boy’s scent gathered there, “I’m coming back.”

He’s not sure if the admission is for Stiles’ benefit, or simply a statement of fact.

It’s not like there was ever really a question that he’d return-- not for Derek. Not really.

His life, his _anchor_ , is in Beacon Hills.


End file.
